


That's Not a Proper Greeting!

by RIC (prussia)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Comedy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Modern Day, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-20 05:04:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8237053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prussia/pseuds/RIC
Summary: On his way home, Austria is startled by a familiar voice calling out to him...admitting a few words he never expected to hear.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written February 4th/5th, and March 5th, 2016.
> 
> One night on tumblr, I saw a prompt/challenge type thingy, about writing thirty stories involving your OTP saying the all-important phrase 'I love you' to each other in various ways. 
> 
> For example, 'How you said I love you...' 
> 
> \- Under a blanket  
> \- Over a beer  
> \- Over coffee  
> \- As an apology  
> \- As a good-bye
> 
> And so forth. 
> 
> Well, this story is from the first day's prompt: 'The way you said I love you as a hello.' 
> 
> I wrote this fic (or what is now the main gist of it) in one sitting; took eight hours. And then I moved on to the second day's prompt, but after that, my inspiration for doing the whole challenge died. (Plus, I was in the middle of editing The Ghost and Mr. Edelstein, and I didn't want to get sidetracked.)
> 
> Ah, but one month later, I returned to this fic, and thinking it held some potential, I extended it; wrote another chapter for it. (And as of publishing this, I was still thinking it wasn't completely finished, but you know, after reading thru it again, I'm thinking maybe it stops right where it should. Of course, if I change my mind a third time, I'll add a fourth chapter as soon as I can.)
> 
> This is my usual PruAus nonsense: canon-esque; country and ex-country; suppressed emotions plus humor and fluff. 
> 
> If you read it, I do hope you enjoy it!

Austria couldn’t balance another sack in his arms if he tried. Two brown paper sacks piled high with groceries; filled to the brim, and the sides of each sack struggled not to split. Frayed at the top, and he swore to God, if he could just get home with the sacks intact -- the groceries in place, and not spilling out onto the streets he crossed, nor upon the sidewalk on which he walked at an old man’s pace -- he’d be grateful enough to attend mass the coming weekend.

The sound of footsteps heavy on concrete echoed up the alley Austria ventured through in hopes of finding a shortcut.

“I love you!” a man’s voice rung out above the noise of nearby traffic. “I love you!!” the unseen man called again. Louder than any stranger who loomed on the outskirts of the two buildings creating the alleyway; louder than the idle conversation blurred together to form a soup of unrecognizable phrases.

Austria turned in time for the man behind him -- the man he feared was some lunatic stalker -- to shout out the greeting a third time.

“I love you!” Prussia screamed, and a manic look shone in his eyes and in his grin, yet traces of exhaustion and defeat offset his delivery.

Panting, out of breath, Prussia leaned over and grabbed his knees. Staring at black combat boots, wishing they were sneakers, before lifting his head and peering up to Austria. “Did you hear me? Can’t you wait a minute?!” he blurted. “I’ve been chasing you for eighteen blocks!”

Austria scoffed, "But I just left the store a minute ago." His mouth left agape in disbelief, but mostly in shock, for why on earth would Prussia feel the need to shout such crazy things? Such lies?! In front of other people; strangers; an audience. Centuries to admit any thing he wanted -- to say any thing he wished, or to toy with him -- while the two of them were alone or fighting or playing music together in a club’s after-school meeting, just the two of them, or ah, on a holiday: one of the many they had spent together over the vast collection of years known as their immortal lives -- and yet now, here stood a man hunched over with only three words on his mind, and his face dripping wet with sweat. “You’re lying,” Austria said. “You must have me confused with someone else.”

Prussia shook his head 'no' as he straightened himself, letting go of his knees and stretching his lean body like a cat once it awakes from a nap. “I swear to God, it’s true,” he said, then laughed, “Eighteen damn blocks, and you must be deaf, Austria." He rubbed at his eyes as he confessed, “I was behind you the whole time.”

Austria shifted the bags in his arms, and tilted his head, studying the man who paced towards him in the shadows of the alley. “I would have seen you at some point,” he reasoned. A defensive air poisoned his replies: “You must have been hiding somewhere! Always watching me. Spying!” he spat. “I can’t go on one measly outing without you lurking in the bushes, or hiding behind a door! I didn’t see you because...well, I...” and his arguments ran out of steam. “I...was busy,” he sniffed. “Too busy for you and your childish games.”

Reaching the point where his words were near devoid of sound, he finally thought to ask, “What do you mean ‘I love you’??” Tempted to set aside the sacks to relieve his aching arms, yet not before hugging them to his chest. “How dare you say that to me?!”

The question hissed while leaning down to lower the bags to the pavement, but Prussia reached out for them once finally catching up to the man he had supposedly followed around town all afternoon. “It’s true,” Prussia said, and his grin returned. “I was watching you on the soup aisle, and you were reading the labels, you know?”

Prussia grabbed one paper sack and then the next, plucking them from Austria. “I was peeking through the shelves at you,” Prussia continued, holding the sacks with ease, “and you kept reading the damn labels, and all I could think was, ‘Just pick one already! They’re all the same,’ but you just had to read every word on every label, and I tell ya, Austria, the way you lifted your glasses...the way you scanned the pictures...the way your nose crinkled, and you cringed at that one can, but then you put it in your cart!” Prussia giggled at the recollection. “I couldn’t help but think, ‘That man doesn’t know what he wants. He doesn’t know what’s good for him...’“

“And what on earth does that have to do with...with loving me?!” Austria interrupted, stating the word ‘loving’ as if it were a dose of profanity.

“Because you bought the one can of soup you looked at the meanest,” Prussia said. “I imagined it was a can of me, and you might pretend all day that you hate me, but we both know what you’re gonna eat for supper tonight.”

“A bowl of you?! Prussia, you’re impossible...” sighed Austria. “Start making sense! All this rambling about soup cans and grocery stores and now cannibalism?? Or God, is it something sexual?! I can never tell with you.”

“I didn’t mean a bowl of me, Smart Guy! I meant,” Prussia began, wincing over the need to explain, and his eyes widened as he realized the weight of the greeting and the time it took him to feel the need to shout it the first chance he got, once Austria was off the sidewalk and away from the crowds, “you’re gonna eat that cheap soup for supper tonight, and when you’re done, you’re gonna say it was awful and you hated it, and act like it’s beneath you to eat something so bland and store-bought, because you can’t stand to admit you like it when you know most people would think you’re crazy for liking it, right? You can’t stand to be judged. Can’t stand to be wrong,” Prussia listed Austria’s faults, and even took a guess at one: “You can’t stand to be seen with me! I mean, look at you!! You’re walking around town knowing damn well you’ll probably get lost, carrying bags you know you can’t handle, and all this time, you could have called me and asked me to help, so of course I follow you. Why wouldn’t I?” he asked. “And why can’t I say what I want to say to you?! I figured it out when you were a few steps in front of me. I figured it out the way you looked over your shoulder but never saw me. I thought you were pretending so I started humming your favorite song. I whispered your name a few times. I said the name of a war we fought. I taunted you with my awesome smirk, just knowing you’d look any minute and see me, and you did, Austria! You did...and your eyes didn’t light up. You looked right past me like you didn’t recognize me.”

“I didn’t see you at all, Prussia,” Austria said, finally feeling the need to interject a response in the midst of the ex-nation’s diatribe. “Honest. I...”

“You were busy, and you’re in a rush, and you don’t want my help. I get it, Austria. But you don’t have to lie all the time.”

“I’m not lying!” Austria shouted, and he meant it to sound like one of his many callous remarks, but it resonated with a whine, like a child on the verge of tears because their parents don’t believe the excuse they’ve given; telling the truth for once in their life; being punished in spite of it. “I promise you I didn’t,” Austria cried. “I would have spoken to you. I’m not that rude...am I??”

A question more for himself than for Prussia. Repeating the final word, “I,” and fumbling on it. “I...” he again failed to form any coherent reply.

“‘I love you too’ is what you’re looking for,” Prussia teased, but even his own tone reflected something akin to a child’s plea; begging for a gentler response from someone they love; someone they hope will care for them, and believe them. Even in the darkest places -- the shadows of the alleyway growing wider by the passing minutes; the sun setting in the distance of the busy town -- and knowing they’ve let their loved ones down in the past, if only they could hear the truth now; if only they’d listen, and respond with more heart and forgiveness. “Just say it back and see how it feels,” Prussia advised him. “Even if you’re lying...” a softness, albeit hoarseness, tinged his voice, “I won’t mind.”

Austria slicked his hair behind his ears, adjusted his glasses, and pretty much kept his hands busy so as to distract his racing mind. “I...” and there was that word again. Still struggling to carry on with whatever line he toyed with saying. “I...” and the twist he gave his cravat seemed to choke him into grimacing worse than before. Biting his lower lip in hopes of steadying his mouth into at least a frown. Something less than disgust; sadness a viable option to get out of having to state whatever it was Prussia was hoping to hear. “Love,” Austria finally managed to eek out. Stammering to let another word or two dive from his tongue, “No one,” he finished.  “I love no one,” he restated, leaving out the spaces. “Not you. Not me,” he glanced to his well-polished boots. “Now help me carry these things home, you Big Dummy. I’ll have you know, I DO like that soup, and I wasn’t cringing at all!” he argued. His speech picking up speed now that the whole ‘love’ business was out of the way. “I was merely having a hard time reading the list of ingredients. That’s all. I think my glasses were smudged. Or maybe my eyesight is getting worse,” his conviction weakened, for even Austria didn’t believe his own contrived story! “As a matter of fact, just last week, I was telling Germany how I should make an appointment with an ophthalmologist, and I asked if he knew any good ones.” Austria stepped away from Prussia and motioned for the ex-nation to join him in leaving the alley; in the renewed hope of finding a shortcut to arrive at his Vienna home before dark. “If you don’t believe me, just ask him once you drop me off. He’ll tell you.”

“I bet he will,” Prussia seethed.

***

The ex-nation followed two steps behind the entire walk to Austria’s front door. Not another word was said until Austria lingered on the doormat; Prussia stomping his way across the porch with the sacks in a death grip thanks to his strong arms. Hearing the thin brown paper crinkle as they glared straight ahead.

“You can come in if you like,” said Austria.

“Why? So I can be a good little delivery boy, and stash these in the kitchen??” Prussia scoffed. “You want me to cook your precious soup for you, too?!”

“If you like,” Austria again offered the tail-end of his prior invitation. “After all, if you love me,” he reasoned with a smile, “I’d think you’d want to cook it, and even blow on every spoonful.”

“Teasing me,” Prussia muttered, and glanced up to the overhead porch-light as it shined down in return, illuminating the two men like a spotlight needed to highlight a small stage occupied by a couple merely acting; reading a script they had no time to practice, because love scenes weren’t in their repertoire. No prior experience. No gentle lead-in or way to hone their skills for being sweet. For handling a polite invitation and gentle teasing with dignity. “Yeah, I’ll cook your soup, Austria, and then I’ll pour it on your head! I hope it burns that smug look off your stupid face, and then I’ll make you lick if off the floor!!” Prussia threatened with a crooked smirk. “Soon as I rub my boots in it, and you can lick those too while you’re at it!” he laughed. “At least you’d finally be good for something other than taking up space and distracting me!!”

“If I distract you,” said Austria, while grabbing for the two sacks in Prussia’s arms, “it’s your own fault.” And as his fingers clawed into the brown paper walls of the two bags overstuffed with food, the sacks ripped and groceries rained down onto the porch, clattering at their feet; the can of precious soup pelted the toe of Prussia’s right boot, and he groaned in pain a split second before aiming an obscene phrase straight at God. Following it up with the F-word when a block of cheese landed in the same exact spot. -- Both men lunging away from the escaped flood of groceries. “Look what you did!!” Austria shouted.

“What I did?!” Prussia cried, and tossed the torn sacks aside. Empty except for a receipt in the bottom of one, and Austria’s spare change in the other. A couple of coins rolled across the porch, and it might as well have been the proverbial pin-drop, for silence followed Prussia’s outburst.

Each scurried towards the pile of groceries scattered atop the porch and mat. Kneeling down, they leaned in close to one another as they picked up the items one by one. “I think it’s ruined,” Prussia said while lifting a spiral ham. “Dented,” he said while examining the block of Swiss cheese.

Otherwise, the two didn’t speak as they finished the clean-up job. Surveying the scene for any remaining items as they cradled the food close to their chests. Austria huffing in exasperation as he recalled locking his door before leaving home.

“The key,” Austria said, casting a knowing look to the man at his side. “It’s in my front pocket. Can you reach it?” he asked, pivoting as he stood on the mat; one leg twisted so as to jut out his left hip. “My hands are too full, and...”

“Mine aren’t?!” Prussia said, stating the obvious, but his snarky response came with a playful grin. “Digging in your pants pocket, huh? Is this how you get men to say they’re sorry??” he laughed.

“Just grab it,” Austria said. “If you can, I mean...” and his gaze drifted to the bevy of items Prussia cradled like he feared causing them further injury. Careful not to drop them. Something sweet in the way he even rocked his arms back and forth, if only slightly, like the groceries, too, were tired, and Prussia, knowing they had a long trip from the store, and hurt themselves on the harsh surface of Austria’s front porch, hoped to rock them to sleep. Convinced any moment Prussia might even whisper to the collection of food, ‘Prussia’s got you. You’re safe now. Don’t worry. I love you...’ And with that bit of fantasy, Austria glanced away; hearing the words again in his mind; reminded of Prussia’s face and voice in the alleyway. The desperate tone he had used. Yet the strength in his voice. Chasing after him to tell him what he had realized that afternoon. “Spying on me,” Austria said by accident; his internal line of reanalyzing the situation breaking loose and aloud. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” he offered the late apology in all sincerity. “I guess if you needed to say it, then I’m glad you did.”

“Huh?” asked Prussia, and he maneuvered about, balancing the ham and cheese and various things until he managed to free his index finger. Scooting within an inch of Austria, he pawed at the front pocket of the out-of-fashion pants. “Probably gonna rip these too,” he joked, as if the seams would tear the second he worked his finger past the well-worn fabric in search of the key. “Looks like the same ugly brown paper,” he noted, and soon enough succeeded in shimmying his finger into the tight crevice of the deep pocket. “Ah ha! I’m in...in like flint!!” he announced, as proud as a prisoner who had just busted his way out of jail. “What do you think of that, Mr. Snug Britches?”

Austria forced back a smile, but eventually laughed at the feel of Prussia rubbing his finger on nothing more than Austria’s hipbone. “I think it’s ‘In like Flynn’, you Idiot.”

“I know it is now,” winked Prussia, in reference to his finger; fiddling for the house key or so he feigned.

“Not your finger, the expression!!” Austria said. “Flynn! Not flint...”

“Errol Flynn,” laughed Prussia. “Dashing Pirate. I’m gonna sweep you off your feet, then on to a deserted island with all your groceries, and build a tree house for you.”

“Just open the damn door,” said Austria, feeling the jagged metal of the key poking at his thigh. “I know you have it, so stop toying with it.”

“Yeah, but it’s slippery,” Prussia defended, narrowing his eyes, all while closing the one inch space between him and the nation. His head cocked above Austria’s shoulder; peering down Austria’s nose in addition to his own. Silver hair brushing against the dark waves of Austria’s well-positioned tresses. Held in place thanks to a generous dosing of hairspray that morning. His arch of bangs now pressed flat thanks to Prussia’s cheek. “I’m trying,” Prussia added. Almost chanting: “Slipping...slipping...got it!” he beamed, and with his outstretched index finger, he wiggled the gold key from the pocket, and slid it up to Austria’s belt.

Letting it stay perfectly still by pushing it hard against Austria’s side, Prussia knelt down, never bending his back lest he drop all the groceries; descending the length of Austria’s body until eye-level with the leather belt. Prussia opened his mouth, touching his tongue to the metal.

Once pulling away his finger, the key flopped over and fell onto his tongue, and he held it between his lips before realizing he’d have to bite it.

Rising to his feet, Prussia smiled at Austria to expose his clenched teeth. Speaking as if his jaw were wired shut, “There,” he said. “I can do anything!”

“Some trick,” Austria deadpanned. “But now how do you plan to use it?”

Prussia thought a moment, then laughed as if defeated.

Knowing damn well it’d be hard on the teeth to wrangle a key into a lock, then turn the key, and what? Headbutt the door?? Kick it open?! Get a giant dusty boot-print on it, that's what, and then Austria would scream and make Prussia clean it off.

Not wanting another fight, and deeming the whole thing pointless, Austria sighed. “I’ll just have to set this stuff down and do it myself,” he said. “Silly of us both to waste our time like this. As if one finger can use a key...as if teeth can’t be broken! So silly of us both,” he rephrased. “I just want to get inside already.”

“You and me both,” Prussia said, and he stuck out his tongue, peering down cross-eyed at the key. Shutting one eye as if focusing.

Austria scoffed at the odd display, and bent down to discard his armload. Setting the can of cringed-at soup onto the porch, along with a bag of bruised fruit and a loaf of squashed bread, dented tuna cans, a crushed chocolate cake he only allowed himself to buy from the grocery store’s bakery because he hadn’t felt much like baking the past several days. Plus, it was a day past its sale-by date, and therefore marked down from its original price.

“Crushed and stale,” Austria remarked. “I hate when I’m lazy,” he chided his recent wave of not caring enough to muster up the energy to do the activities he honestly loved. But apathy had crept in, for whatever reason, some time at the start of February. “Valentine’s Day,” he said, unhinged from his previous statement. Glancing up to Prussia who still stood with his tongue sticking out. “It’s nine days away, and you’re lonely,” Austria took a stab at making sense of Prussia’s earlier declaration. “You think you love me but you’re just...lonely. Lazy like me. Too lazy to find someone else,” he assumed.

Prussia drew his tongue back into his mouth only to spit out the key.

It hit Austria’s arm, and stuck to his shirt sleeve. Wet; coated with spit. Austria merely glanced at it.

Eyes wide, Prussia kicked the can of soup Austria had set aside. “Your stupid soup and your stupid attitude!” he screamed. “There’s no wining with you!!”

Austria leaned back until he was sitting on the doormat. Tears welled in his eyes as he watched Prussia stomp down the front steps, and grow small and dim in the distance of the yard. Wiping his cheeks on the unoccupied sleeve as he heard Prussia shout something about lies and the truth...

“Hurts, doesn’t it? Good! I hope it does!!” Prussia boasted louder than the unclear ramblings proceeding it; leading up to an even louder barrage: “I told you why! I’m not lonely!! I’m never lonely,” he went on and on as he reached the gate and pushed it open. Banging his fist on the highly-decorative mailbox. “I love being alone! I hate your damn soup! I hate you!! Now good-bye!”

***

Austria stared at the empty space. The threshold of his front drive where the arch rose high above the white metal gate now rattling back and forth in the wind like a flag of surrender. Surprised at how much he cried; shocked by how long he sat there. Half-waiting for Prussia to return to him, and half-waiting to regain his strength to stand. “I’m not going to mass now, I hope you know that,” he said to God. “Stupid sacks...stupid me,” he muttered to the groceries on the porch. Glancing to the yard, at the trail of items Prussia had dropped or thrown on his way to the exit. -- Austria wasn’t sure, for his tears had somewhat blinded his sight. -- And so, once his sobs subsided, he tilted his head, and struggled to spy each item. Making a sort of treasure map in his mind. _‘The ham is by the rosebushes. The cheese is by my favorite flowerbed.’_ And finally his gaze settled on a nearby item. The can of soup he knew he’d cook for his supper. Dinner for one. Again. How many nights in a row? “Maybe I could love you if I tried,” he decided. “Maybe I already do, and can’t feel it right,” he supposed. “Maybe there’s something wrong with me,” and there in the pale wash of the porch-light, Austria plucked the key from his sleeve. “Willing to break his teeth for me,” he smiled. “I should have let him...I should have told him...I...”

“And another thing!” Prussia screamed from the darkness of the street. Blocked by a tall hedge behind the long picket fence. “I’m not finished with you yet! If you think I’m going to pick up all that junk, you’re crazy!!”

Austria smiled at the sound of the voice. At the manic shouting of the man who always hid from Austria’s sight. Followed him. Chased after him. Catching him off guard once catching up to him. Wanting to help; complaining when he can’t, then cursing when he’s forced to?! -- Always claiming he’s forced; belittling Austria and calling him helpless. But there he was again: day after day, and night after night. The close proximity of two old friends-turned-enemies-turned-friends never-ending. “I’m listening,” said Austria, as Prussia barreled past the gate, slamming it shut behind him. “Yes, of course you’re right,” he said, when Prussia called him ‘impossible’ for the seventh time in a row. “Of course you can come in for supper,” he said, once Prussia reached the front steps of the porch. “I owe you a meal, how very nice of you to point out.”

“You damn right you owe me!” Prussia panted, all out of breath from fuming in the hedges before scrambling and stomping and shouting his way back through the yard. Picking up every single item he had discarded on his prior trek.

Balancing the ham and cheese and various things, he gazed down at Austria, whose cheeks were wet and red; his eyes uncovered; glasses in one hand, and the house key in the other. “And what were you crying about, anyway? You knew I’d come back. I always come back! You think I wanted to walk all the way to the train station at this time of night?!” he shuddered, a funny high-pitched quality to his voice. “This movie I watched last week...the guy got killed boarding a train!”

Austria sniffled, and flashed a weak smile as he rose from the mat. “You watch too many horror films, Prussia. You should try watching more romantic things,” he said. “Love stories and such. You never know. You might learn something.”

“Hmm?” asked Prussia. “What, like your old black-and-white movies?! Those things are for women and weepy guys like you. I don’t need any lessons...”

Taking the hint after a moment or two -- due to witnessing the soft gaze Austria cast to him as he pointed the key to the knob, and glanced over his shoulder with a pleading sad-eyed whimpering-look like a kitten locked out in the cold -- Prussia laughed at himself, and shook his head sort of sideways, as if unsure whether he wanted to say yes or no. “I’ll come in,” he said. “I’ll eat your soup. Free meal, right?” he grinned. “And if you want, maybe afterwards,” he bargained, “we can, um...snuggle up and watch some old movie, all right? But not _Casablanca_. Anything but _Casablanca_!”

Austria stifled a laugh, knowing Prussia’s distaste for that particular film. “Of course not,” he said, as he unlocked the door and pushed it open; rubbing his hand across its surface to hold the door ajar. “Although I do adore the ending.”

“Beautiful friendships are for quitters,” Prussia said, alluding to the film's famous last line -- an American speaking to a Frenchman about the start of an alliance in December, 1941; the exchange symbolic of countries in wartime, though that's not at all why Prussia disliked it -- as he brushed past Austria, stepping into the cool dark entrance-way of the stately home.

Wandering off towards the kitchen, Prussia rambled on about shooting for something better -- something bigger! -- ‘Friendship is overrated,’ was an utterance Austria was sure he heard as he busied himself, gathering the remaining items from the porch. Making a deal with God in his mind if the groceries couldn’t stay sacked, then maybe he’d go to mass if Prussia would just shut up for once and kiss him, stay the night, quit yelling all the time. “And for once, please God, just let me feel it without wanting to hide it,” he prayed, in reference to his own love for the man who stomped about his kitchen, stocking items, and waiting for his ‘friend’ to join him. “Just once...and I’ll go,” he swore.

“Who are you talking to out there?” Prussia called from the well-lit kitchen. “Ghosts?! Stop fooling around and get in here before some bad man shows up and splits you in two!” he fretted. “That’s what happened in my movie, Austria. Right in two pieces! And his heart was still beating...you could see it!!” he cried, peeking his head past the doorway of the kitchen. Watching, waiting -- checking to make sure Austria was safe indoors -- sighing in relief the second he spotted the nation, arms loaded with groceries, setting foot over the threshold.

“If you’re so worried,” Austria said, “come shut this door and lock it for me.”

Prussia smiled. “Good idea!”

Racing to the door with a stock pot in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other, Prussia slid the spoon into his shirt pocket, and locked the door, unlocked it, and locked it again just to be sure. “Double locked,” he joked.

“Like my heart,” said Austria. And he stared at Prussia in anticipation of whatever response his strange comment might warrant. All he got, however, was Prussia snatching the spoon from his shirt pocket, and pointing the wooden handle towards the ceiling.

“Another good idea!” Prussia gleamed, then lowered the spoon, thrusting it towards Austria’s chest. “Right after supper, I’ll double lock that, too,” he winked. “I’d hate for some bad man to get in there.”

“And split me in two?” Austria asked. “What if there’s already some bad man in there? Besides, it has to be unlocked before you can double lock it.”

“I’ll break it open if I have to,” teased Prussia. “Put some dynamite in your soup! That will get you loosened up, won’t it? Make it easier...or maybe just beer would do it.”

“You can drink beer,” Austria said. “I’ll have wine.”

“And we’ll watch whatever sappy movie you want, all right?”

Austria nodded ‘yes’ to agree with the suggestion. “But not _Casablanca_ ,” he mocked Prussia’s voice and harsh accent. “Anything but friendship.”

Prussia smiled, amused by the imitation, but narrowed his eyes to feign otherwise. Speaking as if offended, “You keep talking like me, and I WILL put dynamite in your soup,” he faked a threat, and ran the bowl of the spoon down Austria’s chest. “Down there,” he said, drumming the spoon atop the groceries since he couldn’t reach Austria’s waist. “Your poor stomach will explode, and then what, Austria? You won’t have any where for me to lie my head later tonight! I need a pillow, don’t I? I bet your tummy’s nice and soft.”

“If you’ll stay the whole night,” Austria said, “I’ll pretend that didn’t hurt my feelings just now.”

“And you’ll stretch out on the couch with me instead of sitting in your big snobby antique armchair like a king on a damn throne? Glaring at me every time I laugh at the sappy movie...”

“And you promise you won’t spill your beer on me?” Austria carried on with the agreement. Bartering about the first event the two might could actually call a date. Despite their long evenings, their late suppers, their forlorn conversations about the old days stretching on well-past Midnight; all the hours they had spent together for the past several decades, but never had they approached a visit together like a couple planning a cozy night basking in the glow of some old movie, wine or beer on their breath, and empty bowls of soup on a faraway table; a couch beneath them, arms wrapped around each other, and yes, maybe one man resting his head on the other man’s stomach.

“If I do, I’ll clean you off afterwards,” said Prussia of the potential of spilling his beer. “I’ll carry you upstairs, and throw you in the shower!”

“You could join me,” Austria said, and looked away, his face hot for having dared to say it. Scrounging up the guts to return his gaze to the man he hoped would take the bait. Instead, he found Prussia sticking the spoon back into his shirt pocket. He found Prussia gathering the items from Austria’s arms -- plucking the groceries one by one -- and placing them into the stock pot.

Clearing his throat, Prussia said, “I’ll get a clean one to cook the soup in.” His tone flat. Something sheepish in the way he glanced to the kitchen. “You still want it, right? The soup, I mean. I took a bath this morning, so...” he fidgeted, balancing the pot on one knee before pulling it up -- the brim near his chin -- and he hugged the pot filled with the groceries brought in from the porch. “There’s probably dirt in here, you know. I’ll get a clean one,” he repeated. “And besides, I won’t spill anything on you,” he said, promising almost robotically. “Not on purpose, anyway,” and a smile finally appeared. “So is it a deal?”

Austria returned the smile. “It’s a deal.”


	2. Chapter 2

Following two steps behind Prussia, Austria entered the kitchen. Halting at the sink in order to wash his hands and rinse his face. Once drying off with a dishtowel, he sat down on a bar stool, watching as the ex-nation retrieved a clean stock pot, then slung it onto the stove. Watching as Prussia fished the soup can from the old pot, cracked the can open, poured it into the clean pot, and so on. All while grinning with the silliest look in his pink-violet eyes as if he were thrilled to be cooking the damn soup after all.

Unfastening his cuff-links, Austria hummed, and soon Prussia joined him; humming at first, then, “Potato soup,” Prussia sang, making up some goofy song as he added water to the mix: “Po-ta-to soup for Austria, he’s loopy for soupy, and Prussia's gonna blow on ya! Spooning the soupy, and then we’re gonna watch-e-ah ~ a movie or two-y ~ with soup-y for Aus-tri-a!”

Austria laughed at the nonsense. “I’ll go find the wine...something good on TV,” he listed, rising from the bar stool. “I doubt I have a copy of any movie you’d like...maybe _Wings of Desire_?”

Prussia nodded his head. “I could always go for that one again.”

“Me too,” said Austria. “And if you hear me scream down in the cellar,” he advised of his impending quest downstairs to find the perfect bottle of wine, “don’t worry. It’s just me realizing, I love you, too.”

Prussia glanced over; his grin disappeared but only for a second; glancing back to the soup in almost an instant. “I knew you did,” he said, stirring the soup. “You’re just mad because I knew it first.”

“I’m only mad because you waited centuries just to blurt it out in an alleyway.”

“I’d rather hear the truth in an ugly place than a lie somewhere pretty,” Prussia said. “And you’re not going to the cellar alone, do you hear me? Bad men, Austria! Bad men and spiders!! And ghosts! Plus, you might trip. I better go with you...”

Prussia turned down the heat of the stove -- clicking the dial to ‘low’ -- and nosedived the wooden spoon into the lukewarm substance.

“What year do you want?” he asked, once catching up to Austria who stood in the opened doorway at the top of the cellar steps. “If you decide before we get down there, it’ll save some time.”

“We have more than enough of that,” said Austria, “especially if we’re through wasting it.”

“I was never wasting it...YOU were wasting it,” teased Prussia.

“I was preoccupied,” said Austria. “So were you.”

Prussia cocked his head, confused as to whether or not he agreed with that assessment, but soon he smiled, and the two joined hands. Descending the steps to find wine in the cellar. Austria indeed took at least ten minutes to select the ‘perfect’ bottle; the ‘perfect’ year -- but then he found several he wanted to try, and stood waffling over the decision, letting go of Prussia’s hand in the interim.

The dark space lit only by a small sconce shaped like a candelabra, Prussia -- to ease the long silence -- alluded to the movie the two had decided to watch later in the evening: “If I were an angel, and you were in the circus, would you want me to give up my wings, and be human?”

“I’d want to marry you so I wouldn’t have to work in the circus,” Austria said, never looking up from the labels of the wine bottles; holding one in each hand, trying to decide...trying to decide...yet the idea of marriage rolled off his tongue as if it were the simplest institution one could choose to enter!

“Marry me for my money, huh?” asked Prussia. “I don’t think angels have any money. Remember? He sold his armor just to get a cup of coffee.”

“I thought he sold it for a secondhand suit,” Austria replied. “Guess we’ll find out later,” he added, beaming with delight, for he had finally chosen a bottle of wine. “This one, definitely,” he pointed out the year, and stashed the other bottle back onto the rack. “I wish you’d drink this with me instead of beer, but I won’t fuss at you.”

“No, don’t fuss at me,” said Prussia. “Maybe I’ll drink it...”

Austria smiled, delighted to hear the rare acquiescence. He reached down, and rubbed his free hand atop Prussia’s fingers, brushing along the other man’s skin until Prussia grabbed on and clasped their hands together again.

Turning back to the stairs, leading Austria onto the first bottom step, Prussia asked, “So if I was a normal guy, and could get married, you’d be all ready for that?”

“I’d have to give up immortality first,” Austria said. “You might end up like that, but I doubt I ever will. At least I hope not,” and he swallowed hard, not wanting to discuss Prussia’s questionable fate; his current status: sort of existing in limbo due to his loss of nationhood; his newfound inability to heal quickly; his clinging to Germany and living in a shared house lest he fade -- or so Austria assumed.

Upon the second step, “But yes, I suppose I would,” Austria answered. “Marry you,” he clarified. “Not giving up anything, of course.”

“Uh-huh,” said Prussia, also attempting to avoid the bleaker side of the conversation, “I wouldn’t want you to. One of us should get to to keep it...” and he couldn’t help but pay attention to the bleaker aspects! Cursing beneath his breath as he led Austria onto the third and then fourth step. “But it doesn’t matter,” he forced a laugh, lightening his tone and his mood in the process; donning his all-important mask of _‘What? I’m not worried. Life is great. I’m great! I love being like this...’_

On the fifth step, looming in the shadows halfway between the floor of the cellar and the kitchen’s opened door, “If you didn’t love someone, you wouldn’t marry them, right? Or would you??” Prussia asked, but it sounded more like a criticism; accusing past-Austria of doing just that.

“Prussia, this is pointless,” Austria sighed. “I can't get married as a country, and I can’t get married like a normal person, so why are you even worried about it?”

“You said you didn’t love me,” Prussia grumbled. “You said you didn’t love YOU, back in the alley, but then I sing a silly song to you, and suddenly you DO love me, and you’d marry me if you could?! God, you like making my life harder than it has to be...”

“I want to make it easier,” said Austria. “Please...I’m trying now, at least.”

“Kiss me then, if you love me so much,” Prussia demanded. “Because I gotta tell ya, Austria, I don’t believe you.”

“Two seconds ago you said you knew it all along!” shouted Austria. “And now I have to prove it?! All right then, if it’ll shut you up!” And he leaned over, setting the ‘perfect’ wine bottle onto the sixth step. Letting go of Prussia’s hand, so he could wrap both arms around Prussia’s neck. “Go on! This should be your job...easy, right? I offer to shower with you, and you blush like a virgin, now you’re pestering ME to kiss YOU?! Coward. You’re the one who’s impossible! I...”

Prussia braced himself against the barrage of insults by taking a deep breath, exhaling with a sort of furious grumble, all while grasping Austria around the waist. His hands clenched tight atop that leather belt he spied earlier in the evening. Tugging Austria towards him, Prussia hoped to put a stop to Austria’s verbal assault by going right for the source; if Prussia’s tongue were a sock and not a former key-fob, then yes, Prussia definitely aimed to help Austria put a sock in it! By kissing him with some renewed sense of confidence. That’s what Prussia was best at, after all; not kissing -- though perhaps that too -- but finding an untapped source of enthusiasm for just being great and _‘Damn straight Austria loves me!’_ and _‘Of course I’ll kiss you! I’m not a coward! I can do anything!!’_ Or whatever lines of thought reverberated in his mind as he leaned in and kissed Austria like a man on fire; like his whole life depended on starting the deepest kiss in history.

Something to prove...

Austria clung to Prussia, hugging his neck, and wilting to his chest, sort of turning to one side, as busy hands roamed up his back.

Kissing with his head tilted up, happy to feel at least one of Prussia’s hands grace his cheek instead of tugging at his shirt. A cupped palm helping to guide the kiss into place, as Austria continued to slide down and to one side, as if wanting to lie down. Nuzzling at him 'til his ear nearly rested on Prussia’s shoulder.

But Prussia pulled away, saying only, “Don’t fall,” as he leaned back, with Austria holding on; crawling up one step so he could sit, and draw Austria onto his lap.

To recommence the kiss, Prussia pressed his lips to Austria’s, helping him to ease back into an almost sideways position. Austria, never breaking the kiss -- careful not to! -- worked his way into Prussia’s arms as far as he could, turning to sit sidesaddle, feet dangling past one of Prussia’s legs; a wide lap, legs spread, and Austria made sure to rub his hip if not one hand at the space in between.

Prussia breathed out deep, his eyes shooting open before a sharp inhale rushed him right back to hushing Austria’s know-it-all mouth.


	3. Chapter 3

Maybe one of them mumbled, “This is a bad place to start this,” in reference to the stairs; in reference to the potential of their first kiss leading to their first time together. If intimacy was indeed on the horizon, on the same day they said their first I love you’s to each other, then wooden cellar steps in a drafty room, their faces somewhat veiled in darkness, and the steps coated in dust, due to Austria’s apparent inability to sweep, was in fact the LEAST ideal place to get undressed and make actions out of words.

“Upstairs,” Austria suggested, while pulling away for a split second. “Let’s go...I want to...you don’t have to carry me.” Each pause filled by more of the same. Prussia in a trance like a machine programmed only to kiss the nation he never gave much thought to kissing before that day. A nation he never imagined would ask him to go upstairs; inviting him to bed; a nation he never, EVER thought would utter the words _‘You don’t have to carry me’_ in regards to making the long trip to the second floor of a stately home. 

Upon realizing ‘upstairs’ equaled ‘bedroom’, Prussia opened his eyes, and leaned away. “But we’ve got a whole night planned!” he said. Biding his time. Not half as experienced as one might guess, in regards to saying words like ‘love’ and then turning around to make it. Not a virgin, as Austria had guessed, but then again, hell, maybe he was. -- If he had ever been in a position such as this, it was probably ages ago, and how far it went, and with whom, were details Prussia had never breathed to anyone. Inexperienced enough to be nervous, but maybe not so much to be flat-out apprehensive; not enough to warrant dubbing this ‘his first time’. But then again...maybe it was.

Austria, meanwhile, was a man with multiple marriages behind him. A few more love affairs could easily be added to that list. Regardless, both men could attest to long dry-spells, and not much action had either man seen in the past several decades; for Prussia: centuries? 

“I want to watch you eat soup, and watch a movie with you, Austria. First, all right? First things first...”

“But I might change my mind,” said Austria. “Your only chance,” he teased. “Now or never...screaming at me in an alleyway because you couldn’t wait another minute to tell me what you realized,” he mused. “It’s the same thing. I want it to happen like ripping off a bandage...the sooner and quicker you get me upstairs, the better.” 

“I guess I will carry you, then,” Prussia laughed. “Can’t argue with that.”

And so Austria scrambled from his place atop Prussia’s lap, and stood straight, waiting for Prussia to do the same. Expecting the ex-nation to scoop him into his arms, or throw him over his shoulder caveman-style! Or maybe, should he feel sweet, Prussia would simply sling Austria into his arms more like a groom smitten with a bride. 

But Prussia just sat there. Running his fingers through his silver hair. “I don’t know...” he muttered. “It’s just...that I...well, you know,” he continued to stammer. “It’s not like we have to rush it, right? You’re pretty slick, thinking you can bully me into it...I like when you’re not a weak baby and everything, but...soup, Austria! We ought to eat first. Drink first. Just think about that wine,” he purred the last word as he motioned towards the bottle on the step at his side. “I bet we’d have a pretty good time with that in our system.” 

“I think we were having a pretty good time without it,” Austria said in reference to their kissing. “I don’t have to be drunk to sleep with you,” he explained; a matter-of-fact tone. “Is that what you think? Or...”

“I’m not scared, or anything!” Prussia blurted. “But you know, once we get up there, I don’t want to hear any complaining...and you complain less when you drink.”

“What on earth do you think I’m going to complain about??” Austria asked, honestly at a loss. “I’m sure you won’t disappoint me,” he smiled. “I think you were doing just fine.”

“Just fine,” Prussia echoed the phrase as if it were hollow, and cocked his head to one side, staring at the toes of Austria’s boots. “I bet you’re tired. Walking all afternoon. I bet you need a bath. Rest. Food. Something other than more...” and he struggled to think of a better word for it, settling on his first thought, “work. You don’t need any more ‘work’ until after...”

“FINE,” Austria said. “No more ‘work’ until after supper. Dinner and a movie. You can rest your damn head on my stomach, and then...”

“THEN I’ll carry you upstairs,” Prussia smirked. “See? I was right, and you were wrong, and if you’d just give me a chance here, I’ll...”

“Make me happy?” Austria took a guess; finishing the line.

“I’ll try,” said Prussia. And he rose from the steps, brushing his hands on his pants, narrowing his eyes as his face went red. Some sense of anger boiled within himself while staring off at nothing, then down at his own body. “What if I get up there, and don’t feel the same way as I did in the soup aisle today?” he fretted. “What if we get halfway through it, and I realize I was wrong, and if only I was more patient, I’d know I shouldn’t have said anything??” His voice was low, as if confessing to a priest. “I don’t want to start something I can’t finish.” 

“You have the rest of your life to finish it,” said Austria.

“The rest of my life,” Prussia repeated. He swallowed his pride, and his feelings, and it all swirled and descended into the very pit of his stomach like drinking something hot and acidic after days of starvation. “Sure, I can give you that.”

Days numbered, and years drifting; always one step closer to some inevitable moment where an ex-nation is sure to fade.

Despite that thought, or perhaps to spite it:

“Soup?” asked Prussia.

Austria nodded. “I’d like that, yes.” 

“Movie?” Prussia asked, and he grabbed Austria’s hand, first giving him a second to retrieve the ‘perfect’ bottle of wine, before leading his soon-to-be lover back up the stairs, and into the kitchen. 

“Mmm-hmm,” said Austria, verifying their plans as they passed through the opened cellar door.

Approaching the stove, “I’ll let you finish your cooking,” he offered. Motioning to the stock-pot: “Don’t let it boil over, or stick to the bottom.”

“Right amount of heat, right amount of time...I can do anything, Austria. Don’t worry about me.”

Austria set the bottle of wine atop the bar, and settled himself onto the bar stool again. “I’m not worried,” he said. “When you’re ready for me, just tell me.”

“I already did,” Prussia smiled. Lifting the spoon, he pointed it to Austria’s face while stating, “Eighteen blocks this afternoon, and you think I can’t wait three more hours?”

“I think you’re just being stubborn,” said Austria. 

“Well, I think you’re cute,” said Prussia.

“Well, I think you like cheap soup just as much as I do,” said Austria.

“I think...” and Prussia had no more heart for teasing. “I think ‘I love you’ is a password.”

Steam rose from the stock pot, and Austria returned to humming. Prussia to stirring. Both men to daydreaming instead of doing. Thinking, instead of speaking. When they did, it was the easy banter they were used to. The familiarity of play-fighting, or even real-fighting, such as who gets which bowl, and who sits where at the table, and who would get to hold the remote control.

***

The lights low in Austria’s living room, as he and Prussia cuddled together on the couch. Stomachs full of soup, and Austria with a glass of wine in his hand. Prussia with a beer. The two beneath a purple velvet blanket watching a movie famous for switching between black-and-white and full-color for the sake of drama; poetry; life’s bleakness and internal monologues segueing to reality and the prospect of romance; the chance for an ex-immortal being to fall madly in love with a beautiful creature.

“I wish you could spin from a rope like that,” Prussia said at some point in the film. Watching the acrobatic actress suspended from the ceiling of a circus tent. “I wish you had a skimpy outfit like that, too.” 

Austria studied the screen, and then glanced to Prussia. Leaning over a bit in order to touch his nose to Prussia’s cheek; rubbing at the skin in a gentle stroke. Admitting something in Prussia’s ear, about whatever costumes -- or at least corsets -- he may or may not have stored upstairs. And there was that word again. ‘Upstairs’. 

“If we go now, before I get too sleepy, I...”

Prussia returned the glance, but only to complain, “Shush, Austria, this is the best part!” Punctuating the command, he gave Austria a quick kiss on the lips -- not putting the whole sock in it this time; just quick enough to hush the nation; to quiet him on what was essentially their first real date -- and with his arm around Austria, he drew him in closer. Nestling down onto the couch, beneath the shared velvet blanket. Taking a swig from his beer, as he returned his attention to the film. “You gotta watch the part where he loses his armor. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

“But you’ve seen this before,” muttered Austria.

“Shush,” Prussia repeated. “You know I like to see the graffiti on the wall. Besides,” he reverted to a whisper, “I’ll go when I’m ready. Remember?”

“Oh, just wake me when it’s over!” Austria spat, then shut his eyes, lying his head atop Prussia’s shoulder. “You’re hopeless. Chasing me in alleys...kissing me in the cellar...now you’d rather watch a movie,” he grumbled, and scooted about as if uncomfortable. “I ate your damn soup...”

“I cooked your damn soup!” Prussia shouted. “Now be quiet, or I’ll never carry you upstairs.” But the room went dark, just as the click of the remote sounded, and no lights shone save for one lamp in the far corner behind the couch. “See? Movie’s over,” he laughed. “I guess the power went out,” he joked. “That one lamp runs on batteries,” he lied. “I’m ready now, so stop sulking.”

“I’m not sulking,” said Austria, and he leaned up, wide-eyed, peering past Prussia to the lamp, and then over to the blank TV, sort of dazed as if he had just awoken from a nap; soon realizing what had happened, but the sudden darkness and quiet of the room surprised him nonetheless. Startled by Prussia saying one thing, but then doing another...but then again, what else was new?!

Not waiting to be scooped into his arms, and be carried any-style up the flight of stairs to the second-floor bedroom, Austria turned, and lifted his wine glass from the table, taking one last long sip.

Once swallowing it, “Here?” he asked.

“Here is good,” Prussia answered.

And it only took a moment for the two men to become a tangled mess in the purple velvet blanket. Soon pushing it onto the floor, as their lips met, and Austria unzipped Prussia’s sweatshirt. Likewise, Prussia fumbled with the buttons of Austria’s shirt. Garments tugged, and tossed overboard. Undershirts shed with swift hands.

Pulling away, panting, “Is it big enough?” Prussia asked of the couch. “Bed might be more comfy...”

“Shut up,” said Austria. “Get those off, already,” he glared at Prussia’s boots.

Fumbling with the double-knots tied in his laces, all while leaning on the edge of Austria's couch. His black undershirt on his lap, for he planned to fold it neatly and set it upon the nearest hard surface. “You’d think you could be less bossy when you want something from me...” 

Having changed his mind about staying downstairs, “I’ll carry you, really, I don’t mind, Austria. Just let me grab another beer, and...”

Austria grumbled, and pulled off his own boots. He snatched the black undershirt from Prussia’s lap, slinging it across the room. The space now free for him to sit upon; the spot unoccupied, and so Austria climbed onto Prussia’s lap, pushing at his shoulders to make him rest against the couch. Prussia reclined with Austria straddling him. “There’s plenty of room,” Austria said while attempting to illustrate that fact, and he ran one hand to the nape of Prussia’ neck, toying with wisps of silver hair, and on the other side of his neck, Austria planted kisses and grazed his teeth. Breathing out warm and deep in Prussia’s ear, “I’m tired of waiting.”

“I was tired too,” Prussia said in a rush, and moaned at the feel of Austria’s wet kisses on his neck. Shutting his eyes, and grabbing at the back of Austria’s belt. “I bet we’ve set a record, Austria,” he rambled on as if nervous. “Longest time it takes to say something, then the shortest amount of time it takes to do something about it,” he laughed. 

Austria ignored the fair-enough statement, and worked his way down to kissing Prussia’s bare chest. Running his hands across strong muscles he was secretly a total sucker for. “On second thought,” he said, lifting his head away from Prussia’s ribs, “I think we might need to go upstairs, after all,” and he smiled a bit sheepish. “Bedside nightstand.” 

“Gotcha,” said Prussia, and like taking a command from a military superior, he sprung into action. Leaping from the couch in an instant, causing Austria to tip over onto the cushions.

Lying sprawled out like a cat dumped on a doorstep, “You idiot,” Austria muttered, but he was grinning, too. 

Prussia raced towards the living room exit, only to return, for he had forgotten the most important piece to completing the puzzle he hoped to play with the rest of the night. The rest of his life. However long that may or may not be.

But once collecting his puzzle piece, Prussia didn’t carry Austria. No, Austria walked; the two side-by-side on the stairs, all the way up to Austria’s bedroom door, where Prussia finally slid his arms beneath Austria’s legs. Lifting him up, and drawing him close to his chest. Bridal-style, after all. No neanderthal behavior. No bragging. No boasting. Just sweet words, like _‘Are you sure?’_ and _‘Yeah, me too...’_

Only socks and pants, on both men, and Austria’s leather belt remained to be removed, as the two edged into the bedroom like a couple on their honeymoon. 

Austria busying himself with kissing Prussia’s neck, and petting his cheek, while Prussia leaned down to click on a nearby lamp. “This is better,” he said, gazing at the bed. Not made; the covers a rumpled pile, all askew from Austria having slept in it last night, and even a few crumbs were present, thanks to Austria eating breakfast in bed. Lying there half the morning, reading the newspaper, and sipping coffee, and more coffee -- at least three cups of coffee -- before prying himself up, and out the door to go grocery shopping. “Sort of better,” Prussia cringed. His tone a bit shrill: “Might as well make love to you on the kitchen table!” he said of the messy sheets and white plushy comforter dotted with a stains typical of a coffee-addict too lazy to do laundry on a regular basis. 

Despising a dirty home, “I know what I’m doing first thing tomorrow,” he began, while lowering Austria to the bed. “I’m gonna wash these damn sheets, and make your damn bed.” Freeing his arms, he brushed away the crumbs.

Austria stretched out, and grabbed a pillow, placing it beneath his head. “Whatever you think is best,” he said, and stared up at Prussia who loomed at his side. “You’re not going to leave the light on, are you?”

“Hell yeah, I am!” Prussia said. “This doesn’t happen every day, you know.” 

Glancing to the lamp-light and back to Prussia’s smirking face, “If you say so,” Austria gave in to the idea of having the whole thing illuminated enough for Prussia to see. “Come on, then. It’s cold in here,” he whined. 

Prussia agreed, nodding his head with a worried expression; surveying the room in search of a source of heat. “Where’s that radiator West gave you for Christmas last year?”

Austria shrugged, and dug around for a blanket to pull over his body. “I think it’s in the closet...maybe the attic. In my sewing room?” he took a wild guess. Unable to reach the balled-up comforter, he settled for a pillow atop his chest. “Or it might even be in the cellar...”

“Good place for it,” Prussia smarted-off.

Thus the poor-man's blanket -- the pillow -- came flying at his forehead.

Prussia merely winked once the pillow hit the floor.

Unbuckling his pants, then reaching for Austria’s belt latch, “Ah well,” Prussia realized, “we’ll keep warm.” 


End file.
